Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette Volume XI

Vladislav looked around again. The situation wasn't as bad as it had at first appeared. The attackers had been spotted before most of the column was in the trap. Bernie had apparently gotten their leader who was trying to shift his troops. And Cass, the madman, was spreading panic in their ranks. Vladislav's men were pushing against their northwestern flank and pinning most of them away from the body of the column. Vladislav wanted to charge the bandits; to use the loss of their leader and the panic. A charge now, even with the few men he had, would break them and send them running. If these were all there were. But, what if there was another group? His job was to protect the knyazhna and Bernie, not to leave them unprotected while he went on a boar hunt.

Clickety… click. The madman was out of ammunition and out of position, as well. Cass was well into the trees. Vladislav knew he was going to lose men he couldn't afford if he rescued the maniac. Yet keeping the up-timers alive was vital. While he was considering his options, there was another new sound.

Blam. Blam. Apparently, the madman had another gun. Vladislav's guards were now in control of the fight. Cass' mad dash toward them, added to Bernie's cool, continuous fire had thrown the attackers into confusion and depleted their numbers. They were falling back. "Hold," Vladislav shouted. "Don't chase them. Hold your positions." Vladislav hated to do it, but their job was to protect, not chase. "Back," he shouted. "Back."

Cass let the adrenalin leak away from his system. He'd been an avid hunter since he was ten and a halfback all though high school. Since the Ring of Fire, he had hunted wild boar a lot. Moving fast, moving through woods, and shooting things were all things he did quite well. The being shot at was a lot less fun. He was scared shitless every damned time. When he had agreed to bring the car from Grantville, he'd put the guns in the trunk because he figured that the down-timers wouldn't know to look there. He'd used quite a bit of Vladimir's advance to buy guns. He reloaded the shotgun and the Peace Maker, as much for something to do with his hands as anything else. His hands were shaking a bit.

Bernie had done a bit too good a job on the commander, or boss bandit. The rest were run-of-the-mill bandits, collected for this. They knew very little. Just that they had been hired and paid unusually well to attack this particular group. They were to kill everyone, take as much as they could carry and burn the rest. His equipage and clothing suggested that the commander might be Polish, but anyone could have hired him. The troops were spending quite a bit of time talking about Cass' "broken field running," as Bernie called it. It made up some for the things he had been saying since he arrived. If he could learn manners, he could be an asset.

"Vas'ka Kadnitsa will probably recover." Bernie washed his hands. "But I wish we had a real doctor." He didn't specify what he meant by a real doctor. Another example of Bernie learning manners. By now, even the doctors at the dacha acknowledged that they needed to go study with the up-timer doctors in Grantville. Bernie knew it, Natasha knew it, Vladislav knew it. There was no reason to harp on it.

"I have sent a man to the nearest village to report and bring more troops," Vladislav reported. "About all we know is that it wasn't a random attack. It could have been the Poles trying to deny us access to up-timer knowledge. That will be what most people will assume. On the other hand, it could well have been a faction in the court, Perhaps someone who opposes the income tax or the constitution."

Vladislav paused a moment, then his curiosity overcame him. "Bernie, what was that long gun Cass used?"

"A pump-action shotgun." Bernie grinned, albeit mirthlessly. As though he knew that more information would be requested, he continued. "It's a smooth bore weapon that can fire a solid shot or a bunch of smaller pellets every time it's fired. Cass was apparently using buckshot. It spreads, so you don't need to be all that accurate and is heavy enough to take a man down at close range."

A scout rode up. He and Vladislav conferred for a moment. "We will camp a mile or so up the road. There is a good spot that can be made quite defensible. I don't want to do any more traveling than we have to, not before we are reinforced."

Bernie and Natasha nodded. He was the captain and knew what he was doing.

Dinner had been served outside and Natasha had gone to her tent. Cass had watched Natasha move around all afternoon. She was a stone fox, that was for sure. A rich one, judging by her clothes. They must have cost a bundle. She must have a lot; look at what her brother was paying him. Cass took another drink of the vodka. He'd been drinking all afternoon. First to stop the shakes and calm down. Then to have something to think about besides how scared he had been while the fight was going on. By now he had decided he hadn't been scared, just excited.

There went old Bernie boy. What a suck-up he'd turned out to be. Yes sir, no sir, three bags full, sir. Putting up with crap Cass wouldn't put up with, that's for sure. The girl was in her tent. What a prick tease. She's been asking for it. Probably taking off her clothes. Cass imagined that for a while, imagined it really well. I bet she's a lulu, he thought, once you get her going. And I bet I could get her going.

Vladislav kept a close eye on Cass. A dangerous man in a fight, that one was, and a drunkard. It was a volatile combination. The camp was defensible, at any rate. Which left only the uncultured outlander to worry about. He hadn't let loose of the shotgun all day. And had been passing out insults ever since the battle. After-combat jitters, perhaps. Trying to convince everyone, especially himself, that he wasn't scared. Vladislav had seen the reaction before. Then Cass had gotten quiet. Vladislav expected trouble. Soon.

The madman stood up and began to walk toward Natasha's tent. Bernie stepped in front of him. "Hey, man. What's going on?"

Cass shoved Bernie away. "Get away from me. I'm going to have me a real nice time. She's itching for it. And I'm gonna give it to her."

Bernie had been trying to calm the situation and not ready for an attack. The uncultured outlander's shove had pushed him back and his foot slipped on some rocks. Vladislav stepped in. The shot gun had to go. He grabbed it from Cass and tossed it to one of his men, keeping the barrel pointed to the sky. Fighting man or not, valuable outlander or not, this one needed a lesson in manners. He hit Cass in the gut. Hard. Then in the face.

Vladislav had been restraining both himself and his men with some difficulty. He had orders to treat the new American with kid gloves. He actually did respect the courage of the man in combat, though no more than he respected Bernie's cool headed shooting or his own men's courage and discipline. But now that Cass had threatened to assault the knyazhna, it was too much. Cass had gone down at the second blow but he was getting back up. He went for the Peace Maker, and Vladislav kicked it out of his hand. Cass went down again. "I've been protecting Knyazhna Natasha since she was a child, little man." The outlander might not have been little physically, but he had a little soul. "I can live with your uncultured ways if I have to… "

As Vladislav pulled Cass up from the ground – Grunt, not little physically – he heard Bernie talking to the guards. "Hey, guys, I can wait my turn, but at least let me watch." Some of the guards had thought Bernie was coming to the outlander's defense.

Holding Cass by his collar, Vladislav said, "I can put up with your 'I'm better than anyone else' attitude, but you won't lay a hand on her. Not if you want to keep that hand." Vladislav hit him again.

Cass flew into the table and made quite a racket going down this time. As Vladislav was picking him up again, Natasha appeared.